


Sodomists

by chi_chi_boing



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Forbidden Love, Half-Sibling Incest, Half-Siblings, Incest, Masturbation, Missionary Position, Mutual Pining, Penis In Vagina Sex, Possessive Behavior, Profanity, Rough Sex, Sibling Love, Vaginal Fingering, illegitimate child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 08:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20150758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chi_chi_boing/pseuds/chi_chi_boing
Summary: "If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself."How true it rang, harboring the dark truth from even himself for years, allowing the thoughts to fester inside like an open wound— a wound she would rip open over and over again —until he could no longer hold it. Berkut wanted to forget himself for a moment and taste the forbidden fruit; his brotherly love.





	Sodomists

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Misumena](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10367487) by [habenaria_radiata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata). 

> ahah oops i wrote something awful. well, you're welcome fe fandom; have some smut. (also berkut deserves way better than this i'm so sorry bby.)
> 
> there is explicit incest, it is an artistic choice, please keep that in mind.

Merely an insect— no, parasite. Peasant and filthy-blooded blotch on the art piece of the Rigelian throne. A creature borne of the melding of royal purple and murky brown. The soft part of an apple, close to rotting the whole fruit. The flea that clings to him as it would a dog.

His sibling.

A horrid creature. Box-shaped, small, insignificant, boyish even. Hands so small and fragile they would break at a moment's notice. When he grabs her wrists he wants to twist them and turn them and watch her face paint with agony. An insult to his family name. An insult to women, who are so beautiful and gentle and wise.

His sister.

Lacking grace and beautiful, feminine looks. She only wants to fight, her hands and feet dirtying whenever she rolls around the castle courtyard on rainy days. Sucked avidly into her foolish literature at all times. Fragile, but powerful. Angry and spiteful to all. All but him. With him, she is so kind.

His half-sister.

He marches down the garden pavement in search of his retainers, wind fluttering his cape at his brusque pace, his eyebrow furrowing and scowl deepening by the second. The Rigel royal longs for a battle to release his anger into. But her continuously distracting presence in his mind wreaks havoc on his pride.

The mere thought of her relation filled his mind with red. Ravenous. Harrowing. Murderous. Even now he gripped his gauntlets in white-knuckled, poorly-contained rage.

"Brother!"

Ah, how she softened his heart just with her voice.

So he turned, feet hesitating in their movement and eyes flitting to the walls in poorly concealed anxiousness at her mere presence. So his eyes met her own, further escalating the blurring of his emotions. He seems to lose his composure at the mere thought of her.

"I have been wanting to spend time with you since your return. Humor me this request?"

He scoffs an instinctive: "No. I have more important things to do." More than eager to leave, he rotates on his heels and stomps off in the other direction, jaw clenched and posture rigid.

Her hand latches onto the bottom of his cloth, a childish act that prompts further palpitations of his already weakened resolve.

"I'm not taking no for an answer. I asked merely to be polite."

His black plated armor clinks as he brings a hand to a hip. The look he sends her would bring even the bravest of warriors to their knees: a haughty expression that betrays his prince position entirely. It's villainous and daring, challenging her to further defy him.

"Who are you to order me around?"

"Please, Berkut. I have missed you dearly."

The utterance of such dulcet fluff from her soft voice is the final blow. Armor of his heart cracked and at her mercy as she removes the walls with just her words. His smirk falls into a resigned smile. Her own is dazzling and easily overpowering, once again sending a spike of unbridled love into his heart.

He is weak to her whims.

However, Berkut covers it up with a scowl just as quickly and his heels click on the stone as he begins his trek to his room. She walks ahead of him, already knowing where he is headed. They enter the castle and pass guards who eagerly greet him. But they disregard her entirely. It is something outside his control; he merely entreats them to not insult or hurt her— should they want to be executed by him personally, of course.

As they enter the prince's room, he closes his eyes, finding his control. Thankfully, she is dressed modestly today. Many times has temptation infiltrated his mind when she dresses in one of her tighter dresses, particularly a royal blue one that beckoned him like a flower would a bee.

"What did you need?" Berkut shuts the door behind him and stands, not wanting to sit in fear of becoming too comfortable.

"Do I have to need something from you? Perhaps I just need you and your company." Berkut tries to not ill-interpret her words, but they are loving in all the ways his heart begs to hear.

"I am soon to be emperor, and as such, I cannot afford to waste my time." She rolls her eyes and he seethes at her defiance, but it is all the more endearing. No such woman of high status would dare blatantly challenge him.

Women are beautiful and kind, always eager to see him. Please him. They are well-endowed, fit to bear children and perhaps the more intellectually superior would even be capable of being his wife. Women were to be worshipped for their feminine qualities and complementary nature to man. Calm and complacent and a perfect foil to his masculinity—

"You're thinking too much. Perhaps I will see steam escape your head? That would be amusing, wouldn't it? Sit down, stupid brother. Your tired eyes betray your proud expression."

It baffles him, how she manages to see beyond him, into his very soul.

"...Thank you." And as he sits down— not on the floor, not on his chair, but beside her —and leans down to rest his head on her lap, he realizes something integral to the problem at hand.

His sister is more than a woman. She is a life companion. She is his equal. It makes him scoff, betrayed again by his heart when his mind aches to push away the thoughts.

How he had let his feelings develop to such dizzying heights was beyond his comprehension. No matter how much he contemplated, he could no longer find reason in himself aside from his prohibited feelings for his own sister. Many events were held in order for him to find a suitable wife, but at the end of the night, Berkut returned to his sister's side for respite.

Efforts to resist her were futile; his heart, body, and mind were irrevocably hers to hold. Such small hands held his entire life in them.

"You need to stop pushing yourself. You are a detriment to your own health."

"The moment I cease in my occupation is the moment I lose. You know this well. Do not insist on my health. I know what I am doing." The soft sigh above him causes some strands of his hair to flutter. Her hand rests on his head before she begins running her hand through his raven locks.

No longer can his steel eyes resist the tiredness radiating from his body. He falls like a raindrop to a puddle of water: inevitably. Her ocean waves were the high tide at all times, sucking him beneath the surface and encroaching upon his lungs, stealing his breath and crushing his heart. The ocean was too powerful and he let himself sink.

Her hand touches his cheek.

_Taboo._

"Berkut, is there something wrong? Tell me now or forever regret it."

For once, he opts to remain silent and merely contemplate her words. His thoughts were his own. His disgusting desire to hold his sister, cherish her as a man would a woman, it cannot go anywhere beyond the deepest recesses of his mind. How he wished she would disappear or fall for another if only to give him the motivation to forget. But she never does, clinging to him and he, to her.

And his stupid heart holds onto to a hope that cannot ever come to fruition, for such fruit would bring hell upon the Rigelian Empire.

* * *

The morning of his speech for the empire was finally upon him. His uncle had formally announced that he would soon lay claim to the throne. Berkut spent months of his time working on the speech between his patrols, watching over the people, hands making work of his thoughts in the quiet of his bedroom at night. His comrades would see the passion in his eyes every time he put quill to parchment, wild grin and bloodshot eyes. So much time has he slaved over this.

His maid adjusted his cravat as he sighed, glaring down at her slow pace. Her fingers shook, but she didn't rest in her meticulous fixture of his dress. Determination... that he could admire. He focused on his reflection in the mirror.

His whole life, even. Everything he did was building to this moment— no, this moment held little importance; it was his official coronation he was waiting for. Training in swordplay, archery, and bare-handed combat from the age of eight. Writing and diplomacy with his uncle since the age of seven. Berkut had not taken a liking to etiquette; it was a woman's art to be elegant and well-versed in manners but had practiced it since he was six.

His uncle has been insisting he should be wed even at the ripe age of sixteen.

But the only obstacle that stood in his way simultaneously held his hand and helped him over the chasm that was his stress and desperation.

His hands shook.

His uncle was owed all the respect in the world. But he could often be cruel. When Berkut failed him as a young boy, he would strike him, leaving a sting on his cheek and tears in his eyes. When Berkut hid and was pawing at his wet skin in a quiet corner of the castle— an emperor should be strong and his weakness must never be seen —his sister would find him. Held him when he hurt. Picked him up and set him upright.

Older now, his uncle was senile and tired. Berkut never made mistakes anymore. Prideful the prince may be, but he never allowed his pride to cloud his judgment. Now, in his moments of loneliness, his sister made sure he was steadfast in his strength for his people. No matter how he barked at others, she saw past his harsh exterior, knowing he did so to protect his kingdom.

His heart reaches for her again.

"Where is my sister?"

"M-Milord?"

"My sister. I have yet to see her today."

"Oh, she is preparing her dress," the maid answered as if forcing herself to hold her nerves.

Berkut smirked. She would look beautiful. He picked out her dress himself. It was a royal blue color, his favorite color. His favorite color on her. Berkut bit the inside of his lip. How her delicate shoulders would be perfectly framed in the heart-shaped neckline. Her breasts, although rather plain, would spill over the tight top. Tightening just right around her waist, hiding the curve of her— he bit the inside of his cheek harshly in his attempt to keep his thoughts from appearing on his face.

"Fetch me saltwater."

"Milord?"

"Immediately!"

The maid squeaked and dashed from the room. Berkut opened his mouth and separated his cheek, examining the damage. It was quite a bit of blood. His thoughts had drifted to dangerous territory. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply.

Then he slammed his fist into the mirror. Blood spilled out of his hand and onto the sparkling cracks. The prince watched it drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

This... weak, red substance was what tied them together. A red string of fate with a tangible existence, not like those in romantic erotica. Those were only fairytales and fictional depictions of the binding power of fate. Fate had no power. Just like dogs with three heads did not exist. Merely an idea, not a physical, undeniable truth. A manifestation of human imagination.

But this blood, it had power. Their blood was proof of his sin. The string of fate that should never cross. Perhaps then, he is relieved she is only his half-sister.

But sin is a sin, not half of a sin.

The maid returned with his water, but upon seeing his bloodied hand and the broken mirror, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. It is with his reflexes and expectation that he was able to catch her in time. He gently laid her to the ground.

Only then had he realized that he ruined her uniform with his bloodied hand. Berkut stood up, scowling, before he began taking the shards of glass out of his hand.

"Brother! What the hell did you do?!"

Standing at the doorway was his beautiful tulip. She looked nothing short of breathtaking, the dress fitting her better than his lance fit in his hand. Better than flint took to steel. Far better than any woman he had seen. Gods, his eyes wanted to take her in, but looking too long would be suspicious.

"...I was angry." Such vicious disappointment flowed in him. Could he be such an animal? That he could not contain himself merely thinking of her?

"You're always getting yourself hurt. Today is your speech, try to compose yourself for your people. You're going to be emperor!" She led him to a cushioned bench and began treating his hand.

An emperor with no empress, perhaps. Who was a man without a woman at his side? A sword with no whetstone.

"My uncle told me I must get a bride soon." Berkut turned toward her, curious of her reaction. And a strange, bitterness crossed her soft features.

"I know, Brother. Must you remind me? I don't want you to leave me." His stomach clenched as a burning-cold rock settled itself inside. His ribs felt they would crack under the heavy beating of his heart. Those words gave him hope. Berkut wanted to hear her say she shared the disgusting feelings just as badly as he needed air to breathe.

Their legs were touching and he knew if he did not get himself under control and clarify her words, he would become too excited. High emotions never ended well for him. He was a volcano: beautiful and powerful to behold, but dangerous if he erupts.

"Rather bitter, those words. Watch your tongue, sister. An outsider would say you held feelings for me."

To him, there is no sight more beautiful than the reddening of her cheeks. His arms shook, wanting nothing more than to hold her.

"Of course not. I'm just saying that I want to enjoy my brother before he marries. Once you are wed, we can't see each other."

The sickening feelings coiled themselves around his heart, their tendrils sinking down to his stomach. He wanted to prove that no one could possibly stop him from seeing her. Berkut was desperate for the slightest sign these feelings may be reciprocated. That he wasn't the only one in this mired chasm, the murky waters pulling him below.

She remained pure in her love for him. The love he should give her. Protect her as a sibling should. As an older brother should. Instead, she was the anchor, who kept him in place but kept him below the waters.

"Sister..." he breathed her name.

"Yes?"

"I will never leave your side. No one can take me from you."

* * *

The flames licked at his heels as charred pieces of cape fell. His armor grew hot, but he could not relent. His sister’s life depended on his success in this battle. And despite his body screaming at him to lie down and rest, the adrenaline and desperation pushed him beyond his own limitations.

His sister was in danger.

It began when his uncle gave him orders to deal with the rebellion in a small village on the outskirts, but he figured out that mere words and diplomacy would do nothing to quell the townspeople. His men took up arms and the farmers and common folk began fighting. A battle soon unfolded and with good reason, as commoners cannot think with their brains, only with their weapons. During the battle, he got separated from his sister, who he now had not seen since their separation.

For this exact reason, he hated commoners. They would turn against their own without the slightest hesitation. He should have snuffed this rebellion before it was even conceived in their pea brains, but his uncle was adamant on the townspeople’s happiness in this time of war. Something about not being able to deal with external factors and insurgencies at the same time. It was blabbering, is what it was. And at this moment, Berkut never hated the commonwealth more; they took his sister, someone who shares their common blood in part.

He turns around and swiftly strikes the man who dared to attack him.

“Know your damn place!”

He probably looked crazed, huffing and puffing with soot and blood caked on his face and armor. Sweat poured into his wounds at the burning village’s heat, but he couldn’t even feel the physical pain, as the only pain he could remotely focus on was that of his sister’s absence from his side.

“Sister!”

Berkut stabs and slices at any man standing in his way, knowing that his soldiers wouldn’t dare cross him with his current temper. The farmers begin cowering in fear, realizing how truly mad the prince was. He spared no life, took no prisoner— they didn’t deserve to live.

He hears a gasp, whipping his gaze to a man lying on the ground, who shakes when he sees the prince. The image of the royal prince Berkut riding his black steed covered in his friends’ and neighbors’ gore, fire haloing his figure and armor gleaming, is akin to that of a war god, unhappy with its humans.

But it becomes terrifying the moment a bloodthirsty sneer contorts his handsome features.

“Where is my sister?!” It’s a broken, terrifying sound.

“I-I’m sorry, your excellency! I don’t k-know!”

Berkut scoffs, “You don’t know?! You don’t _know_?! You’re more useful dead, then!” The pain in the man’s chest is sharp and merciful, his life ended at the tip of Berkut’s lance.

“You should be honored, to die by my lance.”

He grips the reins of his horse, forcing it into a gallop through smoke and screams of agony. His men have nearly destroyed this village and while usually, he would feel some semblance of remorse, it’s an emotion that cannot be afforded when it is his uncle’s orders to burn the traitors where they stand. Even so, Berkut can’t help feeling selfish, that the only thing he can focus on is his sister. If she were to die— he won’t humor the thought. It would make him rot from the inside.

A man in chainmail approached him, but before Berkut could attack, he yelled out a pathetic “wait!”, causing Berkut to temporarily halt.

“Y-your highness-“

“What gall you have!” He grinds each word, fist-clenching as he goes on, “To grovel at my feet when you have already betrayed my uncle and I’s trust!” The man, who appeared brave before, flinches at Berkut’s wicked state.

“We c-can make it up to you!”

“The only way to do that is to die!” Berkut thrusts his lance forward, but is stopped by silver striking silver. He recognizes the thin blade and royal purple hilt anywhere; it’s his sister’s saber. Connected to said blade is his precious sister, who has a sad expression. Something unbecoming of her, who only deserves to smile and jest at all times.

“Brother! Stop this massacre!” For long moments, he’s frozen in disbelief, then he instantly releases his lance and scrambles to get off his horse. The man uses the opportunity the run away, but neither royal pays him any mind.

His arms shove her into his chest, making her grunt on impact. Suddenly his throat feels tight and his eyes water, relief flooding him at feeling her in his arms. She smells of ash, but he probably smells much worse. It matters not; now that he has her in his arms, the flames don’t seem so hot, the blood spilled doesn’t feel so heavy, his desperation is flicked away: all in favor of her touch and comfort.

“Sister... How relieved I am to see you alive.”

“B-Berkut?”

“Never leave my side again.” Berkut can feel his heartbeat slowing, somehow her’s speeds up.

“I am happy to see you, too. Did you kill any of your men on accident? You looked like a lunatic. Not that you didn’t always play the part.” And Berkut laughs. She’s taken aback.

“I did not. Do not doubt my abilities. I was merely worried about your safety.” Berkut suddenly cups her cheeks inspecting her from head to toe, “You’re unharmed...”

“T-they didn’t want to hurt me. The women of the village hid me away t-told me that I was like them. They kept me safe.” Though Berkut supposes he owed them thanks for helping his sister, he would never stoop to that level. Instead, he sighs and leans his forehead against hers.

“B-brother...” Her cheeks heat up in his palms and he looks into her eyes.

Only now that his adrenaline has died down does he begin to think. They’re so close, he can feel her breath fanning on his lips in shallow pants. If he’s not delusional and hallucinating, then he can see the flutter of her eyelids and how her body seems to melt against his. Temptation crawls from the pit of his soul and grabs onto his throat like a demon’s claw, stealing his breath. He’s sinking again, sinking into her eyes. It seems she’s sinking, too, with the way she grabs onto his arms and shakes. The prince licks his lips and the second he watches her eyes flit to the appendage, he nearly gives into her right there.

_She’s your sister._

Half-sister.

_You will be punished no matter what she is._

I don’t care.

_You do care._

I just want to kiss her once.

_No. You can’t._

She wants me, too.

He feels his logic tugging with his emotions. Berkut must make a decision now and cement his devotion to his sister. But he can’t, for the sake of his legacy, for his uncle, for Rigel— he can’t sully this. Retain your image, your strength. An emperor like his uncle wouldn’t fall weak in a woman’s arms.

_No embrace is like hers._

Silence!

Berkut can’t even think with so many thoughts swirling in his head.

“Berkut?” Just a mention of his name... What a temptress, Berkut hisses through his teeth. His will is weak.

He strengthens his resolve. Not now. Not _yet_. Someday. Yes, someday, he will take what is rightfully his, but not yet. Not so openly. Rigel is depending on him. Right now he has to throw away his emotions and be a proper prince, soon to ascend the throne. Berkut must say no...

But he cannot fully deny himself the pleasure, as he instead descends to kiss her cheek— dangerously close to her lips. It lingers, much too long to be considered a brotherly expression of affection. It carries his desires and his suppressed emotions in it. It’s dark, it has ulterior motives and it dirties the innocence and beauty of a kiss.

Once he removes himself, he wants to do it again. And again. And again. It makes him dizzy. How she fits so perfectly in his arms and embrace— his mind toils every second and becomes drunk at the thought of her. The tendrils sink deeper, like parasites that grow and dig deeper into his heart, soon to reach the rest of his body. Berkut tugs her back into his chest and releases a frustrated sigh. Perhaps she can sense his feelings, but that is only his hope speaking. Berkut wants her to understand, that she is his until he can finally take her for himself. Too long has he denied the feelings; now it is time to embrace them.

“I love you, Brother.”

His heart skips, and he knows that just like his kiss, her words carry heavy restraint. Its implication is just as dark as the lingering kiss, double meaning of sibling love with undertones of rotten romance. A romance that shouldn’t exist in the first place. It’s their burden to hold.

“I love you, too, Sister.”

For now, they can rot in this secret world together.

* * *

Berkut was steadfast in his promises. The prince would be a priest before he married a woman. If he had his sister by his side when he became king, he would have no need for a wife. Just his hand and the night's silence would prove enough. In the morning, he would break into cold sweats, pants tight from the filthy dream. The thought that he would never have to part with his sister was enough. His uncle did not care, as his nephew had grown into a fierce paladin and diplomat in his own regard. If he could keep having tea in the gardens and his sister would tend to his wounds after battle...It was enough.

For a time.

But his desire for a life partner and escape for his sexual urges was becoming unbearable. How badly he wanted to pin his dearest sister to the wall and fuck her senseless. Sweat pouring down his face as he whispered filthy secrets only intended for her. Fingers in her mouth so she wouldn't alert anyone. Her cunt so tight and hot— he would cum on his own hand before he could ever finish the fantasy.

Gods! How many times he imagined the same scenario that if he saw his sister near that castle wall right behind the library, he would have to turn and leave before she saw him. His groin would pound anytime he got atop his horse, the galloping simulating the very same motions. When his comrades saw him taking a liking to walking rather than riding, they watched with wary eyes but said nothing.

His temper had boiled hot, screaming at his men and even at the maids if they twitched a toe out of place. It helped in some regard to be tyrannical, but his uncle soon had enough. Only a man would understand Berkut's throes of desperation. A man of his disposition still had his weakness. His uncle soon held a ball.

At this ball, Berkut would choose a woman to be his wife. Now in his twenties, Berkut did not have the luxury of saying no. This was it. The prince would succeed the throne and become emperor of Rigel. And an emperor in Rigel could not succeed until he had an empress. It was a tradition and he would follow, no matter how he bartered with his uncle.

That did not mean he wanted to. There he stood, arms crossed, scowling at any woman who dared look in his direction. He didn't even bother wearing a princely garb, simply stood in his typical armor, waiting for someone to somehow enamor him in one night.

The remaining women seemed intimidated, so he decided to step out into the hall, hoping for a temporary escape from his personal hell. They were not beautiful. They were vapid. Berkut caught a few adjusting their hair in the mirrors. They looked at the crown on his head rather than his eyes. Some were lecherous enough to stare below the acceptable level. Even those who seemed kind or mildly tolerable were stupid.

It seemed that women of beauty and intellect had long expired.

Their love was not pure. Pure love could only be created with time. No woman could hope to get to know him so deeply. No woman could possibly soften his heart and massage the woe from his shoulders. None could stick their tendrils so deeply into his soul as his disgusting sister had.

How he hated her. Hate for making him the way he is. Ugly love. More ugly, ugly love.

Berkut spotted a woman dancing in the hall. Why was she by herself and not with the other women? Was she just as apprehensive to marry a stranger as he?

"May I ask what you are doing in the hall?"

"Lord Berkut!" Such innocent surprise.

"Why not dance inside? Where others can see?"

"Oh. Well, Lord Berkut, I am rather shy when it comes to dancing."

"You seem to enjoy it, however."

"Yes! Why, in my house, I enjoy going to the gardens behind our manor and dancing while the birds chirp- Oh! I'm sorry. This must all be so terribly boring for you."

"Not at all. Perhaps you would accept a dance?" Berkut outstretches his hand, feeling some sympathy and interest in the woman. "It would be rude to decline, as I am the emperor's nephew."

"Of course. I would be honored, my lord."

He held her hand and planted the other at her waist, coming closer. Before he could even dance, he heard the clatter of footsteps and glass falling to the ground. The glass debris slid to his feet. Berkut separated from the woman and whipped around to see the familiar figure of his sister dashing down the left hall.

"What was that?"

Ignoring the woman's question altogether, his blood was pumping in his ears as a wash of dizziness took his frame. Berkut dashed after her, wondering what caused her to sprint so desperately away from him. The only thought in his mind was her safety and happiness. At the end of the night, nothing mattered to him if she was content.

The halls were darker than usual, the hustle and bustle of the castle contained to the ballroom. He turned a corner, and as he watched his sister run, he realized that she was going to the garden. And she was fast.

"Stop following me!"

"No! Stop running!"

"Leave me be!"

"Why are running from me?! Stop this insolent behavior at once! You are causing unnecessary conflict!"

She finally stopped as she sat at the fountain. Berkut was out of breath and extremely upset with her, but his eyes widened upon seeing a sight he never bore witness to: his sister's tears. Never in his life had the prince seen her cry. Many times she would comfort him and wipe his tears, knowing exactly the way to calm his fits.

But at this moment, Berkut could only hope that his eyes could communicate how he felt. How does he comfort her? He felt so useless! Good only for fighting and insulting peasants it seemed, but useless where it truly mattered.

"Leave me alone. Please just go. Go dance. Choose a beautiful and wise woman. That girl, Rinea, would be a good match for you." It was difficult to get the words out, but through tears, she managed to get Berkut under control again.

He got on his knees and grabbed her chin. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, the fresh tears giving her a demure and kind appearance as she tried to wipe them with her hands. Berkut thought she looked to be the picture of perfection, even now. Sighing, he removed her hands from her cheeks and held them with his own.

It reminded him of his childhood. When she would comfort him and tell him to stop wiping his tears. That she could wipe them for him.

His thumb reached to collect a rolling droplet.

"Explain yourself." Perhaps a bit callous, but it mattered not. Not when he was so curious as to what caused the traitorous tears to surface in the first place. And perhaps just a bit hopeful.

"It's nothing. Do not concern yourself with my problems."

"Your problems are just important to me as they are to you. Tell me. I am your brother." It was painful to remind himself of such, but he had to press on.

"That is exactly the problem!" She sobs, her body shaking.

His eyes widen, legs near collapsing at the possibilities. Does she mean to say what he thinks —no, he wills himself to bite down the hideous feelings; it simply cannot be.

"Why?"

"I-I can't tell you! I just can't!"

But what if he is not alone in this? Her hesitation could mean anything, but the weight of her words tell him that this is a secret she has kept inside, hidden from the world and hidden from him. From the brother whom she trusts and loves so much. It can be so many things, but it can be exactly what he wants it to be. That very same secret that has burdened him for so long.

He would take a chance. Tonight, Berkut would choose a wife and never see his sister again. Now he could do what he had wanted for years. Because tomorrow he won't be able to. Just something to satisfy him for the rest of his matrimony. To sate his long-building need for her.

He could cut the red strings binding them together for just this moment.

Berkut stands tall and she looks up despite her tears. He leans down close to her, placing his palm on her thigh and the other to hold the base of her neck. She opens her mouth to question him only for him to settle his lips on hers.

It was nothing and everything all at once. The anguish that it would never happen again. That his sister would soon slap him and tell him how disgusting he was. How her body trembled through him. He ached to hold her close. Her lips were so soft and warm. The lips that would often kiss the crown of his head. The very same ones that would innocently soothe his wounds, physical and mental. Now on his lips.

He wants to immortalize this memory in him.

He separates and she looks at him with bewilderment.

Berkut stumbles, rushing to explain himself, "I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. No woman has ever compared to you in my eyes. I apologize fo-"

She drags him back to her, hands clenching at his collar so he can’t move. Her lips move against his with wild need. Berkut responds instantly, his hands planting themselves beside her, caging her as his knee finds itself between her legs.

The tendrils were finally unraveling, coiling around them both in a tangled mess of depravity.

He separates for mere moments only to dive back in. Kissing her again and again and again. Berkut wants to drag his hands down her back and break the dress apart. The kiss so searing and hot that he feels that the cold winds of Rigel were nothing compared to the heat of their bodies. He angles his head, eager to shove his tongue inside her mouth and taste her.

She moans and his composure crumbles. Berkut separates from her and descends to lick the shell of her ear. Her body shivers. One of his hands grasps her waist and pulls her flush against him. Her soft body pressed to the cold armor is enough to make him growl in her ear.

"I'm going to fuck you senseless."

"Brother!" What once brought him so much anguish to hear incinerated his core and tightened his hold on her body. The filthy word. He likes it— how bad it sounds, how wrong it truly is. Hearing it from her pure lips was sinful and he wanted her to scream it as he fucked her. He wanted the whole castle to know it.

Did he care that they were related? Not anymore. The red strings were exactly that, strings. Easily ripped and torn apart, meaningless now as he sat there before her. They would not contain him or his feelings for her. Berkut no longer cared for the opinions of others. She was all he could think about for tonight. The prideful prince always got what he wanted.

"What about your wife?"

"I don't care. You are mine now. Nothing matters."

"And your uncle. And Rigel?" Berkut slips his hand over her warmest place, touching her there above her dress. She bites her lip and mewls in his ear. Delicious. He sucks on her earlobe and inhales when she places her hand on his armored chest.

"I will take you as my wife. No one will stop me."

"I was so worried that you would think me disgusting." He delves into her neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses, leaving welts of possessiveness in his wake.

"Perhaps... we... are... disgusting. But it's all I have ever wanted. It brings me happiness."

"Me, too," she sighs with her eyes closed.

"Then it is a sin to be happy? If it is so, I do not want to be pious. I would sooner go to hell than to not enjoy this moment..." Berkut's hand rubs the nub that his middle finger finds, her face contorting with pleasure. He's always found her beautiful, amazing, better than any woman he has ever seen. But the face of her pleasure is more perfect. His pants tighten uncomfortably, ready to take her right here on the fountain.

“We should go somewhere private. If we get caught here then it will all be over.” Berkut doesn’t hesitate to slip his hands underneath her knees and back and lift her into her arms. The feel of her hands interlacing behind his neck gives him pause. He kisses the crown of her head and begins walking to his private quarters. The heat inside his body is burning him, but the gentle buzz of his heartbeat reminds him that this lust is mingling with love.

As if the tendrils that grow inside him flower, a hideous sight covered by something pure. She is the Dodder plant wrapped around him, covering him and making him forget himself and feeding on his life force. No one can remove the plant; the tree grew accustomed and would die without it.

Despite the lack of people in the hall, the prince is cautious and takes the long way to avoid being spotted by servants. The halls are dark and despite how frivolous the lack of guards in the perimeter is, he is thankful for it now. He would have to tell his uncle later on.

* * *

He slams the door to his room open and gently lies his beloved sister down in his bed. Once he locks the door, he is upon her again. But this time, he doesn’t dive straight into her temptation.

“What happened to your tenacity, Brother?” The prince doesn’t respond, merely cups her cheek and traces the curve of her face, utterly smitten. Fond. Endeared. In love. With his own sister. His forehead presses to hers, shutting his eyes and sighing.

“I feel a heavy burden weighing on me.” To his joy, she runs her fingers through his hair, humming in the way she always does.

“We don’t have to do this. I already am satisfied with what you have given me.”

“You deserve better. I should be responsible and care for you as my family. I have filled your head with such _filth_.” She grabs his chin and caresses his cheek. “Bearing this in mind, I cannot stay away from you.”

“Don’t think I’m blameless in all of this. I feel the same as you. I love you like a sister, but I also love you like a woman.”

“Do not toy with me!” He props himself up, caging her beneath him, his voice shaking. Anger mingles with hope and desperation. “You’re speaking on my behalf. Be honest with me! I hate when people lie to me.”

“I am honest! Do you think I would kiss you if I did not feel the same?!”

“You’re only doing it to appease me!”

“Stop being so proud! I hate this about you! You won’t accept what people tell you! Why would I lie to you, Berkut?! Why would I toy with your feelings when I want this just as much?!” Tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

“I have been lied to and used for much too long. Even by my own uncle.”

“...What?”

“Do not pity me. I have chosen this path, too. I have worked for my position and my future as emperor. It was ingrained in me; I am well aware of my role now. I am a weapon and a guarantee of the success of Rigel.”

“But what about what you want?”

“I was raised to be strong and never fail— no room for love or distractions. He wants me to succeed him, but it comes at the price of everything else. And naturally, I want what he wants.”

“I don’t know what to say...”

“No need. I am sorry for having doubted you. I have been created to doubt and hate.”

“With me, there’s no need for that.”

The prince slows his haggard breathing, a smile appearing on his face. His lips land on hers, gentle and slow. He coaxes them open, sliding his tongue inside. Some saliva slips from his lips, too eager to worry about how he may look. With her, he can be soft and vulnerable. To others, he is a towering castle with proud banners waving, but his sister— who sees the inside —knows the walls inside are weathered and crumbling.

She moans into his lips and he feels himself reignite, forgetting all thoughts that don’t involve her. Berkut grips the back of her neck, pressing her against him, nearly crushing her mouth with his. His intention is to suffocate her with himself, make it so her body and mind worship him only, with no room for anything else. Berkut twirls his tongue around hers, loving her taste and her feel.

A hand sneaks down to her dress, lifting it above her hips. Deft fingers find her clit and press into the nub, earning a shake and whimper from his sister. Berkut latches onto her neck, leaving wet kisses on the expanse of skin. The shine of his saliva on her neck makes his stomach clench, so satisfied to see her so tainted by him. He rubs up and down on her panties, noticing how quickly she moistened her panties.

His finger drags across her slit, gazing down with a glossed expression, left arm shaking. The warmth of her lower lips beckons him to slip his finger inside, just to see what her virgin hole was like. Has she waited for him? Beyond all reason, he firmly believes that she's always needed him as he needs her. The way her panties soaked up her secretions just as soon as he kissed her, like she waited forever for this day. Every birthday, closer to maturity, he grew closer to freedom, but simultaneously to responsibilities, resulting in this clash of perfect circumstance.

Lip bitten, she balls up the bed sheets within her fists. Her legs are cold from the Rigel air, but she couldn't feel any hotter inside, the ball of fire in the pit of her stomach anticipating anything— anticipating him. She wants everything he wants. She needs him now more than ever and she needs him fast, but she needs him slow. Could they be together tomorrow? No. People like them should rot in hell. Continue to live like this moment was a vivid dream, only for them to revisit alone, where no one else can know.

They want it so bad.

"Go faster! I can't wait anymore!"

"I don't want it to end. I've waited so long, a little longer won't hurt me."

She's near tears as she croaks, "I've waited my entire life. No more."

Berkut looks to her, almost saddened to see his precious lover so anguished.

"Fate brought us together for this night alone. Savor it-" and he finally gives her the relief she begged for as he moves her panties aside and shoves his index finger inside. Her legs shake. Her mouth opens, like a rose opening its petals in bloom.

Berkut growls, holding himself from shoving his whole hand inside her; he just wants it all, all at once. He was greedy and gluttonous and nothing except her body and her love could satiate his hunger.

He wiggles his finger around her walls, exploring its virginal tightness before shoving it deeper. Her face contorts into pain and he feels something warm coat his finger. Eyes widening, he wonders if she already ejaculated. The finger returns with blood instead and he grabs her hand with regret.

"Sister! I'm so sorry! I did not mean to hurt you. Forgive me. This moment was supposed to be pleasurable for you."

And she laughs.

"You're still as stupid as you were today, yesterday and always. Don't you know that virgins bleed when they are penetrated for the first time?"

"Ah. I see. Well, tell me if I am hurting you."

The sweetest smile flutters onto her face, reminding Berkut how the most beautiful gems are the most difficult to polish. But her smile rivals the sun— no, better. He finds himself smiling in return. No words are exchanged.

He gently enters her again, two fingers this time. Then he realizes her tightness with excitement. Soon, he would be inside her, where they could be fully connected. In and out, slowly, building up. Her cunt sucks his fingers inside and once he sets a harsh pace, her delicious moans fill the air. Her hips begin wiggling to get more of his fingers and he obliges, bringing them knuckle deep.

There, he hits a spot, it has her shutting her eyes and her back coming off the bed. Berkut's heart is pumping and blood is in his ears. Berkut almost can't hold himself up anymore, arm shaking so much. He wants her to cry for him and beg him, worship him. Today, instead of praying to her stupid goddess, she'll be begging him, on her knees for him.

The image alone has his cock rock-hard in his pants.

He leans over her toward her ear and licks behind her ear, tasting the sweat on her body. How easily he unraveled her. Fingers buried deep in her cunt, he feels them getting wetter, the squelching sounds echoing off the walls. The disgusting sounds invigorate him, knowing that he was the one who caused them.

Then her little hand reaches down toward herself and he's reeling from the overwhelming need to put her in her place. He slaps the sneaky hand away and she squeaks, a squeak so meek and unlike her; it thrills him. This is the domination he's always wanted over her. Berkut was tired of being the laughing stock of his uncle and the second choice to the throne. He needed to be— at least for one person —the best and only option.

"Open your eyes and look at me!" Her chest is heaving and despite how half-lidded her eyes are and how spent she is, she does as he says. He shoves his fingers even deeper into her cunt, slamming into her every time. She spasms. This sends his ego through the roof, confidence surging. A wicked grin appears on his lips, eyes blown wide.

"Who's finger-fucking you so good right now?" The prince punctuates each word with a harsh shove of his fingers, sharply hitting that spot every time.

"You-!"

"Not loud enough! Who's fucking you so good?!"

"You!!!"

"Tell everyone in this castle my name!"

_"Berkut!"_

Sweat is pouring down his neck. The sound is sweeter than birds chirping, than the sound of a defeated enemy, than his uncle praising him. He can't hold himself anymore, collapsing on his elbow, but his hand doesn't tire. It's working seemingly of its own volition. Berkut adds another finger and she moans a weak utterance of his name, eyes never leaving his; an amalgamation of lust and spitfire.

He feels so much love, so much pleasure. How can something so sinful be so holy all at once? It's so pure, but it's so filthy, the feelings elevating him to something almost out of body.

"T-touch my clit, brother."

"Where? Tell me."

He allows her treacherous hand to touch a small nub and he follows, grinding his palm against it. Her reaction is instantaneous, vocalizing his name, so broken, it makes his ears tingle. She reaches her free hand and despite the awkward angle, brushes his bangs from out of his eyes. His cheeks hurt from smiling— somewhere between love and wickedness.

Suddenly, her moans grow in volume, as if she was possessed by some sort of pleasure demon.

"Brother! Ah! Nghhh- there! More!"

Faster. More. Harder. He adds his fourth finger and her pussy is almost raw from his fingers, her clit aching from his calloused palm. She loves it. The pain, the nature of it all.

The vileness of the act, of who they are, of who they are to each other, of how hopeless it all is, of the consequences should someone find out— it stokes the flames inside to uncontrollable heights.

"More? You want more?!"

Tragically, he removes his hand. She mewls and grabs for his arm. He stares at the fingers, blushing at how soaked his hand is. Curiosity overcomes him, sticking a digit in his mouth. The taste is unpleasant, but it's hers and he only wants more. Blushing just as much, she protests that he's being dirty.

"Don't do that!"

"Who are you to boss me around?" And with her whole attention, he licks his fingers slowly— exaggeratedly, to make his point.

"S-stop!"

"I do what I please. That being you. You’re delicious, Sister." She's rendered speechless, having never heard such filthy language come from her— albeit blunt, brutish at times, but still proper —brother.

"You were not protesting a moment ago when I was fucking you so well," he huffs, but he sticks his fingers back inside, collecting more on his fingers. He separates the wet digits, strings of her juices dangling.

"What are you...?" Berkut stares in awe, as it seems the supply is never-ending. He sucks it off, addicted to her.

His hands part her legs and hold them open. Gasping, she squirms, but he's stronger, digging his fingers into her thighs and holding her.

"It's dirty there, Brother!"

Berkut pays her no mind and shoves his face near her open pussy. He inhales deeply, finally understanding what it was that his men always spoke about. This feeling of absolute desire, completely breaking him open, threatening to eat him alive. The blackness and heat take his body alive. Maybe he was the one who was possessed.

Because it seems all the elder sibling can think of is eating her pussy better than his last meal.

"Brother..." Her voice is shaky, and for a moment he fears her rejection, but when he looks up, instead she is breathing hard, her hands wanting for something to hold. He searches her eyes for directions, but they're both so lost in lust and anticipation, neither know what is what.

"Anything you wish, I will give you. Ask me— everything of mine is yours."

“Then, please, give me everything. Eat my cunt, please.”

Without a moment lost, Berkut dives his tongue into her pussy. Her reaction is visceral— mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolling back, and legs shaking from around his head. The prince reaches up to hold her hand with one of his, and she instantly grips it in a vice. The sounds of his wet mouth and her soaking pussy fill the room as he practically slobbers all over her like a starved man. Delicious. Her sounds, her slicked pussy, her. He’s drunk in a fog.

“Nnh... anh—ah! Brother! Ah-!”

With his free hand, he rubs her— already abused —clit and she tightens her legs around his head. He wants her to choke him with her need. His tongue plunges in and out of her pussy as he occasionally takes the time to lick up her juices. She’s so wet that even with how he eagerly laps her up, her ejaculate dribbles down his chin and onto the bed.

“B-brother! I’m so close!” He pours every fiber of his strength into her, rapidly lapping at her lips with broad strokes as he starts humming on her clit, alternating between shoving his tongue into her pussy and vibrating on her clit. It’s sloppy, it’s his first time, but she’s more than pleased, the salacious noises bringing her close to the edge. Berkut can feel it, her thighs nearly crushing his head and her muscles spasming.

He momentarily separates: “Cum for me, Sister. Show everyone who’s treating you so well.”

“Berkut!!!” She cums so loud that her voice sounds hoarse and if they didn’t hear them before, surely someone would hear them now.

He gets off her and begins removing his armor, taking a moment to allow her to catch her breath. She looks so tired, but he wants more. Berkut wants to feel himself inside her. Cum inside her. His heart skips a beat and he stumbles as he throws off his small clothes. Would she allow him? To fully taint her with his seed. It would be all he ever wanted. Perhaps he is being greedy, but he has never asked for anything outside of his obligations as the prince and future emperor. The prince has never asked to have something for himself.

“Berkut? Are you alright?”

“Yes. You won’t be in a few seconds, however,” he smirks as he shakes himself from his stupor. Berkut rushes to the bed and pins her arms down with one hand, the other moving downward. She wriggles in response.

“Not again! I mean, I want it, but I need your cock inside me, please!” His dick pulsates at her needy words.

“Of course. Anything to please you, Sister.” His lips latch onto a nipple and he _sucks_. Her moans fill his ears. Berkut draws patterns on her breast with his tongue, the nub hardening like a pebble. The cold, wet feeling of his saliva mingles with the heat of his mouth and it sends a shock to her core. Teeth gentle, he teethes on the nipple; she shivers and bucks into him. For a brief moment, her pussy lips grind into his cock. They both groan at the contact.

“Please! I need you! Fuck me hard, I can’t wait— I need you inside me!” Her words are in his ear, hot air brushing against him. An animalistic sound erupts from deep inside Berkut.

“I can’t wait to pound you into this bed. I’m going to break this bed and break you-“ he bites her other breast, leaving teeth marks on the flesh, before looking into her eyes: “You’ll be screaming my name. I don’t want you walking for days after I’m done with you.” Her head presses against the bed as her pelvis searches for his. Their sexes are so close and yet so far.

“Nnghh! Anngh~ Ah!”

“Those sounds... I want more of them!” He rubs the head of his cock against her entrance, collecting her wetness. “You’ll be begging for me. You’ll beg me to fuck you every day.”

“Do it! Stop talking so damn much and fuck me!” Berkut chuckles but finally understands.

The moment he shoves his cock inside, he collapses onto her chest. Her pussy sucks him in, so tight and wet and warm— he never wants to leave.

“Your cunt swallows my cock so well. Ugh!” His precious sister pants and grips his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his hips. Their sweaty bodies meld together, like a single mass of limbs and libido. Their eyes meet and Berkut is entranced by the darkness swirling inside them.

This darkness they can drown in together. They will go to the deepest pits of hell, but as long as they were both suffering, it mattered not what the punishment was. What shocks him most is the love sparkling behind the black space, like stars in a dark sky. Berkut can’t even move, so overwhelmed by the feelings. She reaches up to kiss him, tongue lapping at his with reckless abandon and dirty intentions.

He can ponder over his romantic feelings later, at this moment, he’s going to pound her pussy into the next month.

When he feels her wiggling hips, he has to grip the rebels before he cums on the spot. Like a spoiled brat, she moans, “Come on~ I need more! Shove your cock into me, _please_!”

He responds by lifting his hips and slamming back into her as a scream rips from her throat. Berkut starts a ruthless pace, her slick hole swallowing him easily.

“You’re-going-to-forget-your-name!” He punctuates each word with a slam of his hips. The wet sounds of skin against skin resound against the walls along with her wanton moans and panting. “You’re so tight!”

“Nngh ah ah anh-!” Her moans grow heavier. With every thrust of his hips, she grows weaker, but her nails dig deeper into his shoulders. The prince groans in her ear, the pain melding with the wet slide of his cock inside her core. How has he never experienced intercourse before? His hand was nothing in comparison to the slick heat of his sister.

After a particularly hard thrust, she screams and lifts off the bed, chest pressing against his.

“Right there! Ah! Brother! Please! Gods— right there!” Her moans spur him. Faster. Harder. More more more.

But it’s not enough. He needs more. Grabbing her legs, he forces her to fold and secures her legs behind his neck. The new angle has him pounding into the spot with every thrust. She’s seeing stars at this point.

“Brother!!! Berkut!!!” It’s a scream so shrill, it’s beautiful for him to hear. His cock is sliding so easily now he feels like he’s fucking air— it’s gliding. Tears are forming in the corner of her eyes. It drags out a different side of him as he digs his fingers into her legs, likely to bruise later.

“Scream my name!”

“Berkut!”

“Who’s going to make you cum?!”

“You!”

“You want everyone to know who’s fucking you like a filthy whore, right?!”

“Yes! Gods— yes!”

“You would like that, huh?! For everyone to see you getting fucked?!”

“Hah hah anghhh~” Her tongue lolls to the side of her mouth, saliva slipping from the corner of her lips. She nearly closes her eyes, but Berkut grips her chin.

“Look at me!” The eye contact makes it all the more intimate, a shiver of electricity shooting through his veins. His whole body is reacting.

“Brother! I’m gonna-“

“Don’t cum until I allow it!” She whines, shaking to keep herself from displeasing him.

“I-I can’t!”

“You _will_ obey my orders! You can’t cum until I say so!”

Berkut pushes her legs back, folding his sister in half. His climax is so close, he feels it within reach. His thrusts grow sloppy, shallow and fast as he tries to speed his orgasm closer, but it doesn’t take long. Her body is so perfect, it’s made for him. Her pussy was created for his dick. Her lips were meant for him to kiss. Her neck for him to mark up. Sweat is pouring off his body, his matted locks sticking to his forehead. His cock is throbbing, begging for release.

“I can’t hold it! I-“

“Cum for me! Cum all over your big brother’s cock!” She clenches around him, urging him into his own orgasm as he groans and tightens his grip on her. They say each other’s names, only confirming the reality that they just had sex. His vision fills with stars and he’s dizzy at the white-hot sensation of his climax. Berkut can feel his seed squirting inside her. Hand reaching down, he touches her lower belly, envisioning it.

They’re both in awe, coming down from the mind-blowing sensations. His back stings from her nails digging into his shoulders and she can’t even open her eyes. Arms shaking, Berkut very nearly slumps on top of his sister, resting on her chest. He closes his eyes, his breathing still labored, but hers is just as much. Both tired, breath mingling, heartbeats aligned. Even the skipping of their hearts is the same, only further solidifying how much they belonged to be torn apart.

That thought makes Berkut grit his teeth quietly, agonizing over the ephemerality of the moment. This same time tomorrow, he'll be with another woman. It makes him sick to his stomach. He may betray his love physically, but his heart couldn't. He belongs to her just as much as she belongs to him.

To others, she’s a parasitic plant on the tree, but Berkut needs her to survive just as much as she needs him. Others can’t understand. They don’t know how deeply she has invaded his heart and comforted him in time of need. People point and laugh at her for being a bastard child. He was once the same, but he sees beyond her blood. Perhaps that was his first mistake. He began seeing her beyond who she was related to and began seeing her as a person. Did he ever see her as his sister at all? Her closeness in his childhood only solidified his emotional and physical attachment.

It reached a point that he would hysterical without her at his side.

His bicep rests on her stomach, fingers running across her side rib, the beat of her heart the only calm— the only true calm that has ever existed for him.

When he is alone with his own thoughts, he rots himself with his self-doubt and feelings of inferiority. He’s never enough for anyone— not his soldiers, not his comrades, not his uncle, not even himself. But he is enough for her. He can’t sleep at night, thoughts about tomorrow plaguing him. While he eats, he contemplates his next battle or the next course of action to appease his uncle or his kingdom. Prince Berkut of Rigel: the proud, icy prince who is capable of anything for the sake of his home, his strength and leadership far surpassing anyone in Valentia.

With her, he is Berkut.

A finger reaches down toward his forehead, massaging the tense muscle there.

"Brother, please do not fret so much about tomorrow. I will support you and love you no matter what happens."

"You're foolish."

"That's what I'm supposed to say, stupid brother." Berkut props himself on his elbow, face level with her’s.

"Tomorrow this happy moment will end. I will go back to being Prince Berkut of Rigel and you'll stay my bastard sister that no one but me cares about."

“It matters not. You love me, so it doesn’t matter.”

He presses his ear to her chest, her heart is slow, a rhythm that sets his own. A sigh escapes him.

"Hm?"

"How will I find a suitable wife?"

"Choose wisely."

Berkut groans with annoyance, turning in order to face his sister, who has a rather placid expression.

"Why would I search for a woman when you fulfill my every need?"

"Brother, you haven't even spoken with another woman for more than an hour aside from your own mother. How can you generalize?"

"Why bother when I already have everything I want in front of me?" He smirks, but she scowls, her eyes flickering with poorly concealed pain. Her expression tells him everything, his simper dropping into a frown, a more familiar expression on his face.

"Because I am your sister. Our love is disgusting to society."

“I will always love you. More than anyone else, Sister. If I was forced to pick, I would choose you every time.” He smiles, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. Returning his gesture, she traces the shape of his jawline with her thumb.

"Berkut..."

"I also am thinking about my future," he shifts the topic, not in the mood for her to tease him.

"As emperor?"

"Will my people love me like my uncle?"

"Of course. All your hard work will pay off," she murmurs to him, threading her fingers through his dark hair.

"And what of your happiness?"

"My happiness is yours. Knowing that you will live a fruitful and fulfilling life is enough."

"But you won't be by my side. I cannot be happy without you."

"Listen to me, you fool, and listen well. Has Rudolf ever taken another woman after his wife died?"

"No."

"Does he ever stop loving her, even now that she is gone?"

“I... see.”

Berkut inhales.

Then he swallows.

He looks into her eyes.

"But is there a way for us to be together?"

Silence.

A breath.

Loud heartbeat.

A sad smile.

“You know the answer to that better than I do, _Brother_.”

=|-•-|=

_Isaiah 3:8-9 | They parade their sin around like Sodom; they don’t even try to hide it. How horrible it will be for them, because they have brought disaster on themselves!_

=|-•-|=


End file.
